


Let Me Hear Your Smile

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Character, Blindness, First Date, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of unsuccessful dating Eames had accepted the fact that he'll never find someone willing to date a blind man. Arthur is determined to prove him wrong.</p><p>Based on a prompt given to me for blind!Eames/Arthur and their first date :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**

Eames fidgeted with the salt shaker as his heart tripped over itself with nerves. He was going to kill his sister, slowly and painfully. Eames didn’t know why he had listened to Abigail. This was a stupid idea. No one wanted to date a blind man. No one wanted to take that sort of responsibility for someone. It was too much effort, Eames understood that. He had accepted it.

 

The first few ‘first dates’ he had attempted at Abigail’s suggestion had hurt him, as well as hurt his confidence and hope of ever finding someone to spend his life with. Three guys and two girls. The dates had been a bit awkward but Eames thought they had gone well; after all, first dates were supposed to be awkward. But each time the date ended Eames would fumble to find their hand and kiss the top of it, his date would tell him they had a nice time, and then Eames would never hear from them again.

 

It was disheartening to say the least, but it had forced him to realize that it just wasn’t meant to be. Two of the guys were more dominant and fast-paced and got frustrated if Eames couldn’t keep up. The third guy was calmer but also too self-conscious for anyone’s health, scolding Eames when he accidentally knocked over his wine glass at the table.

 

Eames thought the girls might be better but they had been just as bad but in a different way. Both of them were incredibly kind and patient but they babied him, leading his hand to his fork and knife and the glass of water with reassuring words. Eames appreciated the sentiment but he hated the way he knew the girls saw him; someone who needed help, not someone to love.

 

It didn’t help that for each date his companions would choose the event and the location. Eames was all for trying new things but it also meant that he was more vulnerable than normal. He had to hook his arm with his date’s to be led down the bustling streets he didn’t know, and dinner chosen for him since his dates were unwilling to take the time to read off the whole menu for him.

 

After those five attempts Eames decided that it was time he make the tough choice and swear off dating. He was thirty three now, beyond the age of dating anyway. Eames desperately wanted someone to hold and to kiss but he had friends and family. That had to be enough for him.

 

Then Abigail had started singing the praises of a new architect at her work. Eames blatantly told her no and figured that would be the end of it, but she was determined about this one. She told Eames that his name was Arthur. He had warm brown eyes and relatively long black hair which he unfortunately insisted on gelling back. He was about Eames’ height but thinner, and always wore suits.

 

“I don’t want to date a suit-wearing businessman, Abby,” Eames had sighed, resting his head back against the couch. “They’re always in such a rush and they have no patience for mistakes.”

 

“Arthur’s different,” Abigail insisted. “And I think you’d be really good for each other.”

 

“I can’t go through it again,” Eames confessed. “I can’t handle more disappointment.”

 

“How about I get him to meet you where _you_ want to go,” Abigail said. “Pick a location where you feel comfortable. I could even hover if you want in case things go sour.”

 

Eames raised his eyebrows. “You’re really determined about this guy.” He could hear Abigail’s hair swish as she nodded vigorously. Eames weathered his bottom lip and then sighed. “Alright, alright. I’ll meet him at _Triva’s_ but I do _not_ need my baby sister sitting in on my date.”

 

And that was how Eames ended up here. He chose _Triva’s_ because it was his favourite restaurant in the neighbourhood. Eames had been here with friends and family so many times he knew the whole setup of the tables and utensils so that he never fumbled. He could even walk all the way home without his white cane if he needed to, the route so familiar that it was memorized.

 

Eames was seated at his usual table, his heart beating so rapidly it was practically a vibration in his chest. He had arrived early to ensure he could feel out the table and settle in before his date arrived. Eames could hear the clock on the wall edging towards 7pm now. Two more minutes and Arthur would be late.

  
What if Arthur changed his mind and cancelled, or just decided not to contact him at all and leave Eames to eat alone? What if Arthur put his glass down in a weird place and Eames knocked it over, spilling wine all over Arthur’s no-doubt perfect suit? What if Arthur hated the food, or got frustrated with him? This had been a huge mistake. Eames should just get up now and pretend he didn’t even come—

 

Footsteps approached the table, hesitant and slow the way someone walked when they were looking around, trying to find a face in a crowd. Then they stopped, right by the table. “Mister Eames?”

 

Eames snorted unattractively before he could stop himself, his nerves bubbling up inside him. Eames cut himself off as quickly as he could and cleared his throat, bashful as he held his hand out. “I’m too young to be a ‘mister’. Please just call me Eames.”

 

“Eames,” Arthur said, voice smooth as it embraced Eames in a comforting cloud. And then a warm hand slid into Eames’ own, skin smooth against Eames’ calluses borne from his fumbling attempts at learning guitar without a pick – a decision he had made after he dropped the pick and couldn’t find it again the first five times. Fingers wrapped around Eames’ hand and held tightly before Arthur shook his hand, a firm handshake as their palms pressed together. And even though Eames knew it was just his oversensitive touch, and that there really was no such thing as sparks flying at a first touch or meeting, Eames swore that the handshake was electric.

 

He wondered if Arthur felt it too but was too embarrassed to ask, regretfully allowing Arthur’s hand to slip away before he heard a chair being pulled out as Arthur sat down across from him. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” Arthur said as he settled in his seat. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

 

“Don’t worry,” Eames chuckled – quieter this time. “I just make a point of being early so I can get settled. I was just worried you wouldn’t show up at all.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I show up?”

 

“Well, you know...” Eames fidgeted with the corner of the table cloth. “Not many people are interested in dating a blind guy.”

 

Somehow Eames could tell Arthur was staring at him hard. “If someone doesn’t give you a chance because you’re blind then they aren’t worth your time, Eames.”

 

Eames’ smile curled his lips. “So I guess you’re worth my time?”

 

“I hope so,” Arthur said in return. Then Eames heard the pads of fingers smoothing over the leather binding of the menu as Arthur opened it to consider his choices. “Do you know this restaurant well?”

 

“I’ve been coming since I was young,” Eames told him, brushing his own fingers over the leather binding familiarly even though he already knew what he was going to order. “It’s my favourite restaurant.”

 

Arthur was silent for a moment and Eames’ heart jumped up into his throat, wondering if he had said something wrong. Then Arthur spoke again and Eames relaxed. “I’m honoured. I bet you could recommend a good dish for me to try.”

 

Eames’ chest swelled with warmth as his smile morphed into a grin. For once it was his date asking for a recommendation, rather than picking for him. “Absolutely! I mean, everything’s good but I can give you some recommendations on which ones are my favourites.”

 

Eames then proceeded to list off some of his preferred choices, giving a few different options since he didn’t know what type of food Arthur enjoyed. Arthur asked a few questions and Eames described the menu in more detail. He only trailed off when he heard Arthur chuckling lightly. Eames couldn’t read his face to know what was so funny and he suddenly felt anxious. “Problem?”

 

“No, not at all,” Arthur said quickly, the smile still audible in his voice. “I’m just impressed that you seem to have the whole menu memorized.”

 

Eames felt his cheeks redden. “I have a good memory. It’s kind of a requirement.”

 

Arthur’s voice was softer now, perhaps a bit nervous that he had said something wrong. “I bet it is.”

 

Florence, one of the waitresses Eames knew best, came over to their table then and took their orders. Unfortunately when she left silence blanketed the table and Eames bit his lip, knowing he had to force himself to ask the question even though it would be uncomfortable. “Arthur, can I ask you an awkward question? It might ruin the night but I need to know.”

 

“You’re welcome to ask me anything,” Arthur said, though Eames couldn’t hear any other signs to indicate how Arthur was feeling. Arthur seemed to have a persistent habit of sitting very still.

 

Eames took a deep breath, searching for courage. “Did Abigail put you up to this?” There was a long pause of silence and Eames felt his stomach twist into knots. “It’s okay if she did, you can tell me. I just want to know before I get my hopes up.”

 

Arthur sounded strained. “What makes you think I got put up to this?”

 

Eames rubbed the back of his neck, so embarrassed and nervous that he thought he might throw up. “Well this may just be me making assumptions but I don’t know if I’m really your type. Abby told me that you’re this prodigy architect and I can’t imagine you having time for a blind playwright like me.” By now Eames was babbling, barely able to form his words fast enough without tripping over them. “And just from this short conversation you strike me as someone very reserved and quiet and I’m anything but that, Arthur.”

 

“I figured Abigail might warn you about what I was like beforehand,” Arthur’s words were tight. _Hurt_. Eames had hurt Arthur.

 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Eames rushed to reassure his date, mentally cursing himself for ever opening his big mouth. “It’s just that since I don’t have visual cues I rely on sound and touch. When you’re quiet I’m lost. I don’t know what to think. And I’ve been on so many bad dates, Arthur,” Eames laughed without humour. “It never works out and I’ve just come to accept that I’m not going to fit into anyone’s life.”

 

Eames jumped and fell silent when he felt a hand brush his own where he had it resting by his fork. When Eames didn’t pull away Arthur seemed to gain some confidence and rested his hand fully on top of Eames’, warmth seeping into the back of Eames’ hand. “You’re right, Eames,” Arthur mumbled. “I am reserved and quiet and incredibly busy.” Arthur’s hand twitched. “But I don’t want to be that way.”

 

Uncertain but encouraged by Arthur’s gesture of holding his hand, Eames turned his hand so that their palms were pressed together. “And you think I can help?” he wondered, not unkindly.

 

“Truthfully it wasn’t Abigail that set me up,” Arthur said. “ _I_ was the one who asked her about you.”

 

Eames’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “ _Really?_ ”

 

Eames thought he heard the rustle of Arthur’s crisp shirt as he nodded but it was hard to tell; Arthur’s hair was probably gelled as Abigail had described. “Yes,” Arthur said when Eames didn’t respond. “I just moved here for the new job and I love my work, but I don’t know anyone in the city and I’m absolute shit at talking to people, I’ll admit that.”

 

Arthur sighed sadly and Eames held Arthur’s hand a little tighter. “That would be hard,” Eames sympathized.

 

“Yeah,” Arthur remembered to respond verbally this time. “Anyway, I threw myself into my work but it’s gotten to the point where I don’t know how to stop. I feel like I’m not even living anymore.” Eames felt his heart ache at the genuine sadness in Arthur’s tone. “Then I was paired with Abigail for a project and every day she would come in smiling and laughing with some story about you. And as pathetic as it might sound, just hearing those stories reminded me that life wasn’t just about work.”

 

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Eames said, not attempting to hide his pleased smile. “I’ve always been a firm believer in enjoying life to the fullest.”

 

“I was inspired by you without even meeting you, Eames,” Arthur told him. “So the chance to meet you in person wasn’t something I was going to let pass me by. If you don’t think we’ll work out you can tell me and I’ll leave you alone. But I just want you to know that I’m not the sort of person to give up just because something is challenging.”

 

They were interrupted again when footsteps approached them, a bread basket settled on the tablecloth before the waitress left again. Eames felt Arthur try to pull his hand away but Eames held on, desiring the contact and desperate for the connection between them that helped Eames read Arthur better.

 

When they were left alone again Arthur spoke. “Tell me honestly, have I completely embarrassed myself?”

 

Eames smiled and felt Arthur’s hand relax in his grasp. “I’ll admit that you do sound a bit like a Disney movie, but I like it. And I appreciate your honesty. I like you Arthur,” Eames said. “I know it hasn’t been long, but I do. I just need you to give me verbal or physical cues since I can’t read your face.”

 

“I can do that,” Arthur agreed warmly. “And since I just finished spilling my soul all over the table I think you owe me a story in return as we eat bread.”

 

Feeling bold, Eames lifted Arthur’s hand until he could kiss Arthur’s nimble fingers. Then he released Arthur’s hand and reached for the bread basket where he knew it would be, pleased when Arthur didn’t try to take over and do it for him as he split the bread. “Arthur, it would be my genuine pleasure.”

 

#

 

Arthur kicked up a fuss but in the end he let Eames pay for dinner. Florence pressed the debit machine against Eames’ hand and he took it, brushing his fingers over the buttons to enter his pin code. The machine beeped and Florence handed him a receipt and his card and then wished them both a good night.

 

Eames heard Arthur’s chair being pushed back and stood as well, holding out a hand as he smiled shyly. He had always been frustrated when someone insisted on leading him, but tonight it seemed like the perfect excuse to hold Arthur’s hand. If he accepted. There was a moment’s pause where Eames felt his hand tremble nervously, his other hand twitching as he considered grabbing his cane where it was clipped to his belt loop.

 

Then he felt that warm hand slide into his grasp again and it felt to Eames like the universe was aligning. Eames stepped closer to where he knew Arthur was, grinning as he squeezed his hand lightly and Arthur squeezed back. After a moment Eames reached forward with his other hand to trace the length and angle of Arthur’s arm and then manoeuvred him so that he could hook his arm with Arthur’s to be led safely out of the restaurant.

 

The warm breeze of the approaching summer ruffled Eames’ hair as they stepped onto the sidewalk and he breathed deep, relishing in the scent of fresh-blooming flowers up the street. “Now what?” Arthur’s voice caught his attention and Eames tilted his head back in Arthur’s direction.

 

He was briefly overcome with fear that this was all a dream and that it would shatter around him. Eames didn’t want Arthur to tell him he had a lovely evening, to slip his arm from Eames’ own, and to never call even though they had exchanged numbers over dinner. Eames didn’t want to let this man go. His voice was silky but precise, his laugh reminding Eames of the chime of a pure brass bell when Eames managed to get Arthur to laugh genuinely. Arthur smelled of clean laundry and his intelligence was sharp and refreshing.

 

Eames was willing to hope, for this man. One last time.

 

“I don’t want to say goodnight yet,” he admitted.

 

He felt Arthur’s arm twitch against his own. “Unfortunately I do have work in the morning.”

 

“It’s a Saturday.” Arthur didn’t respond and Eames floundered, wishing he knew what Arthur’s expression was so that he could better gauge this conversation. Was Arthur being his workaholic self or was he just trying to let Eames down easy? Arthur had been wonderful about verbalizing his thoughts over dinner once Eames explained what he needed, but now he was tense and quiet. Eames forced himself to speak. “Didn’t you tell me that you wanted me to remind you that there’s more to life than work?”

 

He tried to smile and wasn’t sure if his wobbly smile was enough.

 

Then it happened.

 

Arthur turned towards him slightly, a smooth hand cupping Eames’ cheek which was covered in evening stubble. Then Arthur’s lips were pressed against Eames’ own and Eames couldn’t explain it, couldn’t rationalize it, but for just a _second_ he swore he could _see_. He had been imagining Arthur all night, trying to piece together what he would look like from everything Eames _could_ perceive.

 

As their lips locked together, innocent and shy, that mental image became real for Eames. There were starbursts behind his eyes, painting Arthur for him. And then Eames _closed his eyes_ , blanketed in darkness again as he leaned into the kiss and held Arthur tightly against him. He knew it was just his imagination in high gear but he didn’t care, because he was suddenly reminded of how _beautiful_ the world could be, even if he couldn’t visibly see it.

 

They were probably making a scene on the sidewalk but Eames didn’t care. He held Arthur as tightly as he dared, and then tighter, Arthur holding him just as close. Their holds were claiming but their lips were soft and tentative, pressed together and locking without pressing too far too fast. Arthur moaned quietly into Eames’ mouth, the vibration against Eames’ lips shaking him to the core like an earthquake beneath his feet. And Eames moaned back because if this wasn’t heaven, he didn’t care what was.

 

They pulled apart at the same time and Eames held up a hand, searching for Arthur’s face. Arthur leaned into it and Eames pressed a palm to Arthur’s cheek, feeling the heat of his blush. It made him smile, and Eames felt Arthur’s cheek shifting under his palm. “You have dimples,” Eames whispered, certain he would float away on a cloud when Arthur allowed him to trace his thumb along the indent of Arthur’s dimple. “It suits you.”

 

Arthur laughed quietly as he tilted his face away for just a moment – shy – before he remembered that Eames needed the physical and verbal cues. He turned back, dimples smaller but still there. “How do you know that? For all you know I could be hideous.”

 

Eames chuckled and shook his head, hearing this mistake from far too many people. He kept one hand against Arthur’s cheek and slid his other hand across Arthur’s chest until he felt his heart beating beneath the crisp fabric of Arthur’s suit jacket. “I don’t need my eyes to see beauty, Arthur,” Eames told it to him like a secret, even though he wanted to world to know this lesson. “Your beauty is in here.”

 

He pressed his palm more solidly against Arthur’s heart, feeling it flutter just for him.

 

Eames startled and then calmed when Arthur moved his own free hand to rest over Eames’ racing heart. They stood there together like that for a few moments, heartbeats singing together. Then Arthur leaned closer to him, lips that Eames was desperate to memorize against his ear as Arthur whispered. “You are a beautiful person, Eames.”

 

“Same, Arthur,” Eames returned and then turned his head. He caught the corner of Arthur’s mouth by accident but Arthur adjusted in their shared embrace and pressed their lips solidly together again.

 

Eames was certain this time. This had to be heaven, because nothing else could compare.

 

This time it was Eames who pulled away first because even though he wanted to kiss Arthur forever and _never_ let him out of his embrace, Eames had thought of a response to Arthur’s first question. “We should go pick up ice cream,” he said.

 

“Ice cream?” Arthur echoed, equal parts confusion and amusement in his voice.

 

“Yeah, there’s this ice cream parlour three blocks behind me. It’s on my route home.” There was a pregnant silence between them before Eames realized what he had accidentally implied. “I mean—I’m not saying we should, you know. Oh god,” Eames groaned, cursing his habit of speaking before he thought. “All I was going to suggest is that we get ice cream and watch a movie or something so that you’re too tired to work tomorrow and just end up resting.”

 

Arthur began to pull away and Eames panicked, frantic as he reached for Arthur blindly. But then Arthur was back, catching Eames’ arm with his own and linking them together again. Eames tilted his head in Arthur’s direction again and for a brief instant he was overwhelmed with _longing_. He wanted to know Arthur’s face and smile, his body and expressions. He wanted to _see_ Arthur.

 

But the longing passed when Arthur stood a little closer to him even though he didn’t have to and said, “Lead the way.” Because Arthur didn’t see Eames as lesser or weak; he trusted Eames to lead sometimes. And because Eames didn’t need to see Arthur to know him. To love him.

 


	2. Epilogue

Eames woke up to the sensation of a warm arm slung loosely around his middle. He smiled and moved his hand down, searching for those narrow fingers he had tasted and memorized over the years. When he found them he traced along the back of a smooth hand, over the bump of a thin wrist and up the arm until he reached loose, ungelled hair. The path was familiar to him, as was this morning routine as he buried his fingers into soft curls.

 

Arthur hummed and pressed his forehead a little tighter against Eames’ arm, making Eames smile wider as he stroked Arthur’s hair affectionately. Eames loved that it always took a while for Arthur to wake up in the mornings, even though the sun was spilling across their bed and heating the blankets until it was almost too warm. Arthur always lounged for a while before forcing himself to wake up and in the long, unchecked minutes of the morning Eames held Arthur close.

 

Eames continued to pet Arthur’s hair until he felt Arthur’s head rising, a hand denting the mattress by Eames’ arm. Eames kept his hand touching Arthur so he could always keep track of him, fingers skimming down to tickle the short hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck before resting on his shoulder. He could feel Arthur sit up and lean closer, focused on each shifting muscle beneath Arthur’s t-shirt. Eames’ warning was a warm gust of air across his face before Arthur pressed their lips together, light and tender.

 

“Are you ready for today?” Arthur asked him when they pulled apart, though Arthur remained close enough that Eames could feel his words ghosting against his mouth.

 

A flash of nerves clawed at Eames but it was impossible for the fear to fully take root with Arthur in bed with him. “What if I trip?” Eames wondered. It was the one fear he couldn’t shove away regardless of all the reassurance he had received from Arthur, Abigail, and pretty much anyone who would listen.

 

“You won’t trip,” Arthur promised him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be right there with you.”

 

“What if I trip and we _both_ fall?” Eames groaned, unable to stop imagining it in his head. Arthur was a very prim and proper man; he wouldn’t take kindly to falling to the ground in front of a room of onlookers.

 

“Then we’ll help each other stand,” Arthur soothed, palm cupping Eames’ stubbly cheek. “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”

 

Eames wasn’t sure his heart could swell anymore than it already had. “You’re right,” he said and pulled Arthur in for another warm kiss. After a moment he brushed his lips along the side of Arthur’s face, tracing the strong line of Arthur’s jaw.

 

Before he could reach Arthur’s cheek he felt Arthur pushing him back down against the pillow lightly, a blend of amusement and seriousness in his voice when he spoke again. “I will not stand in front of everyone with beard burn, thank you. You better not forget to shave.”

 

“Consider it the first thing on my list, darling,” Eames smiled.

 

“I’ll make breakfast,” Arthur said as he sat up fully and got off the bed. “We have an hour before Abigail gets here and two before we have to leave.”

 

Eames nodded and threw his leg out to the side until he felt the edge of the bed, shuffling over and standing up as he listened to Arthur bustle around the room. “I’ll shave and then meet you in the kitchen,” he said as he found the bedside table with his hand. From there he traced it to the dresser beside it, and finally the doorframe for the bathroom. “You didn’t move my razor, did you?”

 

“It’s where it always is,” Arthur promised. Eames stood still for a moment, the floorboards flexing under Arthur’s moving feet as he moved closer and kissed Eames on the cheek before heading out into the hallway.

 

Hours passed and Eames’ nervousness began to bubble up inside him again, making it difficult to eat, sit still or breathe. Arthur had left early in their car to make sure everything was in order and Abby drove Eames a short time later once he was properly dressed. Now he was standing out in the echoing foyer, listening to the buzz of many voices in the room beyond.

 

“Do I look okay?” Eames whispered, holding his sister’s hand as tightly as he dared.

 

“You look incredibly handsome, Eames,” Abigail told him, using her free hand to brush away what Eames hoped was invisible dust. “I know it breaks tradition but I’m glad Arthur picked out your tux. He has much better taste than you do.”

 

“That’s not difficult,” Eames laughed quietly, though it was mostly out of nerves.

 

“Well he has better taste than _me_ ,” Abigail added, which meant a lot more. Eames tried to smile and wasn’t sure how well he managed it. It probably came out as more of a grimace because Abby hugged him then, so tightly it was even harder to breathe. “I’m so happy for you both. You’ll be amazing.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

A throat was cleared nearby and Eames tilted his head in the direction of the sound. He heard soft-soled shoes on the foyer tile and a warm hand he would know anywhere touch his shoulder. “Ready?” Arthur asked.

 

Eames gulped and grinned. Slowly he released his hold on his sister’s hand – his main support during his entire life – and then held his hand out invitingly. Arthur took it solidly and then moved to stand beside him, their arms hooked together. “Good luck,” Abigail said to them both and then the doors in front of Eames opened and closed. He heard the voices being hushed and a distant choir beginning to sing.

 

“I love you, Arthur,” Eames proclaimed, one last time before they said it in front of everyone.

 

He turned his face slightly and Arthur spoke against his ear, “I love you too, Eames,” before kissing him.

 

They turned to face straight ahead again when the doors were pulled open ahead of them. Arthur took the first step forward and Eames matched him, step for step. Eames was grinning like a loon as he heard everyone standing in the large room for them. And as promised, Eames didn’t stumble once during his long walk up the aisle with Arthur by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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